


Bragging Rights

by Zoya1416



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bragging Rights, But Abstinent, Gen, Humor, Predators - Freeform, warnings for general werewolf and vampire themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: A normal night at Biers.





	Bragging Rights

Sally smirked as she watched Angua handle a not-unusual problem at Biers. A normal man had wandered into the supernatural bar and managed to acquire enough liquor to stagger up to Angua. It was the blonde hair that did it, she mused. The sight of Angua's long mane—although mane was entirely the wrong word for her species—with its gold, bronze, and chestnut streaks—made idiots out of males. Not just humans, either. She'd seen dwarfs, Igors, and trolls stare stupidly at Angua when she took off her helmet and flipped her strands loose, and the last two didn't even grow hair. Sally definitely did not notice Angua's hair.

She could tell Angua was too tired after patrol today to be polite. They'd had two ridiculous unlicensed thieves pretending to be little old ladies who needed aid crossing the street, and then pick-pocketed their helpers. Then there were vandals at the Blind Io temple—tagging by the students at the Sisters of Seven-Handed Sek in retaliation for their own temple's desecration. They'd been stupid enough to cat-call the acolytes who then ran after them. There was one case of suicide—who called a troll a bunch of rocks these days?—and a peeping Tom in the Park Lane area. Although that one was a 9 year old peeping Thomasina, actually named Pepper, who'd been dared by her friends to climb a tree and watch Lord Rust's youngest son take a bath. 

When the lordling spotted her, she scrambled down the tree, but he rushed out of the house to detain her. He called the Watch, who found him in the back garden sternly lecturing the girl on propriety—without a stitch on. Sally thought the girl deserved an award rather than a scold—the man was a chinless, long-nosed type who was definitely eye-popping in the trouser area. Well, the aristocracy did breed for breeding, as she'd heard Duchess Ramkin say once. As it were. They'd lead the stunned child out of the yard promising to deal sternly with her, then giggled helplessly once they had her safely home.

The rest of the shift hadn't been that amusing. There was a death by the Ankh—a starved beggar who'd joined the Canting Crew two days ago, and was too weak to get out of his scaly blanket the next day. Sally had stared at the man's swollen feet, bloated belly, and body sores, thinking about what alcohol could do to a human body. That was when she'd suggested Biers, with no irony at all— _she_ wasn't human.

“Go away.” Low growls from Angua usually carried her point, but the damned man still kept smiling and leaning in.

“Go away or I'll rip your throat out!” This didn't penetrate the clown's consciousness either, and he didn't move. The growl became louder, a snarl, and Angua showed her teeth. Now _she_ leaned forward. “I can do it in less than five seconds.” She narrowed her eyes into a true werewolf glare.

Suddenly more sober, the man straightened and did not quite flee from the pair.

Laughing, Sally asked, “Have you ever really?”—gesturing to her throat. 

Angua fiddled with her drink, eyes turned down, now frowning. It wasn't their first or even third, probably the only reason why she answered.

“Once. I won the Game when I was very young, and my family gave me the first leap. I left Uberwald as soon as I could after that.” Defiant, she looked up at Sally. “You?”

“Mmm, well, I'm a lot older than you, and with vampires, we don't want to kill. We only want the b-word. But there was one idiot who—I didn't see he was hiding a stake.” She turned back to her drink, a virgin Bloody Mary. Angua had snickered at her when she ordered it, then nodded understanding when she explained what Igor still stored for customers not as reformed as she was.

She'd had way too many of those—it took a lot of alcohol to get a vampire drunk, but once she approached that line tonight she had kept going. Angua on the other hand—

“What have you been drinking, anyway?”

“Mmm. Fruit Salut—pineapple and mango with vodka. Couple of those. Then orange juice with, with, something. Maybe gin? And a Pimm's cup, that was fun. Peach Schnapps on crushed ice with, with, real peaches. I think two. Three. Four maybe. Were good peaches. Cherry brandy. And now iss just a few perry.” She looked at the last glass critically. “T'ink iss perry.”

Sally took the glass from her and wrinkled her nose. “That's not perry. It's like scumble made of pears. What is with all this fruit tonight, anyway?”

“I'mmm practickly vegetarian.”

“Vegetarian, ha! How long did it take you to rip that guy's throat, that one time?”

A way too bleary Angua suddenly giggled. “Five seconds. Really. Annnddd?"—she gestured at the vampire.

“Four seconds. I win.”

A woman whose hair was white with one black streak stood beside them. “BARMAN! KLATCHIAN COFFEE WITH ARAK!”

Sally winced at the noise. Vampires had sensitive hearing anyway, and this mortal definitely needed some throat-nibbling for causing pain. She looked more carefully. Oh, her. “Are you really supposed to do that? And why such a nasty drink?”

“Pre-loading. I have an assignment across the Circle Sea in a few minutes. And it's _zero_ seconds. I win.” Susan definitely did not urge the man in the seat next them to move, Sally thought. It was all his own idea. The duchess settled down with her drink.

“I thought you said you didn't kill people, you only collected the souls?"

“A distinction without a difference to humans.” Susan made a face when she took a sip, then kept going. “It takes no objective time for the scythe to cut the tether, so I win.”

“Mortals! Bah! Softies! All of them! Five seconds!” A suddenly alert but not sober Angua spoke up, pointing to Sally. "You win! And you win!” nodding to Susan. “And I win! We all winnn!”

“Reformmm succccks!” Sally collapsed against Angua, giggling. She knew she'd gone too far and she didn't actually think that way (often), but tonight she was too sozzled to control herself. The two predators (abstinent), and DEATH (temporary holiday substitute) tried to fist-bump and high-five, but were all too incapacitated to pull it off, resulting in waving fists and smacking each other. They whooped. The werewolf and vampire showed all their teeth. Nobody noticed. It was Biers.

“Well, that's enough for me tonight,” a small hand threw money on the table.

“Cheery!” called Sally, panicking. She'd forgotten about the dwarf. “We didn't mean—not dwarfs! We don't—we wouldn't—we were kidding”—but the small figure stumbled one step, corrected herself, and marched out the door on her three inch copper slingbacks.

“Good instincts,” said Angua. “Did you see what she did?”

Sally shook her head. Vampires could throw off intoxication easily, and hers was receding now. She cursed herself for forgetting her friend. Cheery should have known they were joking—

“When she tossed the money down, she used her left hand, and scattered several coins to be distracting. I saw her put her hand on her belt knife then.” The captain nodded thoughtfully.

“Belt knife—didn't know she had one. Mr. Vimes doesn't like those.”

“They're only illegal for civilians. And then she used the excuse of stumbling to actually draw it.” Angua cocked an eyebrow toward Sally.

Sally still wasn't getting the picture. “So? What about it?” Five, maybe seven, virgin Bloody Mary's still hadn't disappeared completely. Cheery should have _known_ Sally better—but then Sally had been the one to raise the topic.

“I've seen it before. It's wood, mahogany, I think, with a very sharp point.”

“Oh.”

“It has silver inlay, too.”

“Oh.”

They were all silent then. Angua pulled over Cheery's drink. It was shiny. “What is this?”

“Gold vodka. She told me she liked watching the flakes.”

“That's species stereotyping.”

“Not if she does it,” said Susan. “I have to go now. DEATH waits for no man. Or woman. Or six year old child run over by a cart.”

She threw back her coffee and arak, and stepped through the back wall of the bar.

Angua knocked back the vodka. “We'll have to make it up to her.” She glanced over. “Did you ever—take a dwarf?” Her voice was down in the lower registers again. Not a growl, and she was probably growling to herself anyway.

“Absolutely not. They're too hairy, with those beards.” Sally nodded decisively. They were, really. No necks at all. 

“And they don't make more than a morsel. I mean they wouldn't.”

“I think it needs to be quite a large bottle. I'll get Igor to give me one. With extra gold.”

Angua spoke. It was definitely a growl now. “Sally! Don't, you know, mesmerize him.”

She glared. “Igors have served vampires for centuries. But I have my own money, thanks.”

She stood up, patting Angua's hair absently. She had no heartbeat to speed up, but it wouldn't have, anyway. Not for Angua. But as for Angua's six-foot tall redheaded mate, Sally would climb him like a tree if he was available. She shook her head. Her thinking had gone in too many wonky directions tonight, and she didn't need any more. Besides, she'd have to fight for him. I could take her, though, she mused. Probably need more than five seconds, but still. She couldn't help thinking how much fun it would be to bite someone who could bite her back. Mortals were softies, indeed. But sometimes they were friends, too, and she'd forgotten.

She and Angua could move very fast, and would catch up to Cheery. They'd make it up to her—she was a copper, tough enough to patrol with a werewolf and a vampire—they'd make it up. Soon.

“Two bottles, please, Igor. We've got to run.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, Discworld fandom! Haven't written for you in a while, but I haven't forgotten you. Kisses.


End file.
